The Bastard King

by Jean Plaidy

  The leader of the party had dismounted. He came towards her leading a richly caparisoned horse.

  He bowed before her.

  ‘My lady,’ he said, ‘we have come to escort you to the castle, over the drawbridge, in full light of day.’

  She smiled; she had never known such triumphant joy.

  She turned to her father who was cowering behind her in the cottage.

  ‘Father,’ she said, ‘I go to the Seigneur with honour. This is a day to rejoice.’

  She mounted the horse and surrounded by a fine array she rode across the drawbridge into the castle of Falaise.

  They were well matched – the tanner’s daughter and the descendant of the Dukes of Normandy. She had both beauty and spirit; she was Brunhilde to his Sigurd; and, in the weeks even before their child was conceived, they were aware of this.

  There was an unusual dignity about her; it was as though she had spent all her life in castles; any slights which came her way, for many believed that her power over the seigneur was, by nature of their relationship, transient, were met by indifference and disdain. Robert was surprised by his own emotions. He delighted in her. He sought no other woman and it quickly became clear to the members of his household that it would go ill with them if they did not pay true respect to the Lady Arlette.

  When she knew she was with child she was exultant.

  ‘Now,’ she told Robert, ‘I shall always have someone to remind me of you.’

  He passionately declared that she would need no reminder because he always intended to keep her at his side.

  She shook her head for, although she believed then in his vows of lifelong fidelity, they lived in dangerous times; and Robert was not a peaceable man and was even now living precariously in a castle he had taken from his brother.

  But for the first few weeks after their meeting there was nothing to disturb their love; and with each passing day the bond between them strengthened. Robert was to find a depth in Arlette which delighted him; as for Arlette, Robert was for her a figure of romance and legend. He had stepped straight out of one of those stories which her grandmother had told her; he was Rollo and Sigurd all in one.

  Robert was indeed a colourful character. A man of great contrasts, he was capable of acts of devilish cruelty and considerate kindness. He was extravagant; he loved finery and he could be chivalrous. This side of his nature was brought out through his connection with Arlette. He was a strong man and there were many who fervently agreed that it was a tragedy for Normandy that his less spectacular brother Richard should have been their father’s first-born. There mingled in him many characteristics of his sea-roving ancestors with a fervent desire to be a good Christian. Young – he was only seventeen years old at the time of his meeting with Arlette – he was tall, handsome, vital; he was not known as Robert the Magnificent for nothing.

  When he knew that Arlette had conceived he was overcome with delight. He wanted a son in his own image.

  He would in due course be obliged to marry, to get an heir who could well be a Duke of Normandy. Robert was certain that his feeble brother could not remain in possession of what should surely have been his by right of everything but the year of his birth.

  So he rejoiced with Arlette.

  One night Arlette had a strange dream. She awoke in terror calling out: ‘No . . . it is a child I bear . . . not this great tree.’

  Robert, awakened, soothed her tenderly and she lay against him telling him of her strange dream.

  In this her time had come and the child was about to be born; eagerly she waited to hear its cry. But instead of a child there came forth from her a great tree which spread its branches across the town of Falaise on to Rouen and it grew and grew until it covered the whole of Normandy and beyond.

  ‘It is a sign,’ said Robert. ‘This child within you is no ordinary one. He will be a great man. As great as mighty Rollo perhaps.’

  She was soothed, contented, and passionately she longed for the birth of her child.

  She was sure it would be a boy and that Robert would do his duty by him. But would he in truth raise his bastard son to rule over Normandy? Of one thing she felt certain: he would if he could. If it were within his power the fruit of her body should stand side by side with the Dukes of Normandy.

  Arlette often visited her father’s cottage. There her old grandmother sat at the spinning wheel, as she had in the days when Arlette was a child. It was at her feet that Arlette had sat and listened to the stories of the past.

  To her grandmother she went to tell her of her strange dream.

  ‘The child within you will be a boy,’ said the old woman. ‘He will be born to greatness.’

  ‘He will be a bastard,’ said Arlette. ‘Robert must needs marry. What of the sons he will have by his true wedded wife?’

  ‘Our dukes have ever loved their mistresses more dearly than their wives. William Longsword was a bastard and have you forgotten the case of Richard the Fearless?’

  ‘Tell me again,’ said Arlette; and there she sat in the darkened cottage while the distaff was idle and her grandmother talked of the old days.

  ‘And Richard the Fearless out hunting in the forest came to a cottage and there he saw a beautiful woman. He passionately desired her and though she was the wife of one of his foresters, he reminded the man of the droit de Seigneur.’

  Arlette nodded. How many a young girl had been taken to the seigneur that he might deflower the virgin before her marriage.

  ‘Now the forester’s wife loved her husband dearly and she determined that no lord on earth should take his place. So she went to her sister Gunnor, as beautiful as herself, and she said: “When it is dark go you to the Duke’s chamber and lie with him in my place, for you have no husband and will betray no man.” This Gunnor agreed to do; and by the time Richard at length discovered the deception he was so deeply enamoured of Gunnor that he laughed and bore no grudge against his forester’s faithful wife.’

  ‘But he married the daughter of the King of Paris.’

  ‘And loved her not. She bore him no children and when she died he married Gunnor; and Gunnor bore many children and one of these was Richard, the second Duke of Normandy, who was the father of your own Robert.’

  Arlette said: ‘And this child I carry?’

  ‘Who knows. He could one day be a Duke of Normandy.’

  Arlette smiled. ‘When Robert is not the Duke? When my child will be a bastard?’

  ‘Hush. Have I not told you that many of our dukes were bastards? Is it not a fact that our men have loved their mistresses more dearly than their wives? Something tells me that ere long your Robert will be Duke of Normandy. If he is, and if he continues to love you . . . and if the child you bear should be a boy . . . a boy of spirit and courage, a true Norman, who can say?’

  Thoughtfully Arlette went back to the castle.

  In a few weeks’ time the child would be born and Arlette had prepared her lying-in chamber; it was to be a room in the castle from which she could look down on the river Ante and remember the day when she had gone there to wash the family’s linen.

  That she was loved by Robert was something like a miracle; that she was to bear his child made her happiness complete.

  She had prepared the child’s garments and she could not wait to hold him in her arms.

  On this day the hunters had brought home the deer – a fine large stag which was carried in by two bearers. The smell of cooking filled the hall; the cooks were bustling over the fire; a young boy, son of one of the foresters, was set to turning the spit; and soon they would be seated at the feast.

  In her bower Arlette put on the velvet tunic with the long flowing sleeves which so became her and undid her braids so that her golden hair fell about her shoulders. That she was large with her child detracted not a whit from her beauty.

  Down in the hall, the floor had been strewn with fresh rushes, the board had been set up on trestles and the benches placed round it. At the top of the table was pla
ced the only chair – that of honour – in which Robert always sat and on his right hand was Arlette’s place. After the company had eaten drinking horns would be put on the table, and there would be singing and telling of tales.

  Robert was in a merry mood. He was planning fresh conquests. He had stayed in Falaise so long because of Arlette but he would soon have to set a guard in Falaise and move on to Rouen. His eyes gleamed at the thought. Rouen was the first city of Normandy. When it was in his hands, then he could indeed rejoice.

  The meat was carved; the Duke served first, then Arlette. She used an ornamental knife which had been given to her by Robert so that she did not have to use her hands as much as menials did. She was fast learning castle manners.

  The stag meat was tender; they had eaten heartily and were drinking; one of the minstrels was about to give a song – an old sea song which the Vikings had sung as they roamed the seas in search of lands to plunder – when there was sound from without and a man came running into the hall to fling himself at Robert’s feet.

  This man’s clothes were dirt-stained; he was gasping as he cried out: ‘My lord, they are but a few miles away. They will attack at dawn.’

  Robert immediately demanded that the man be seated and tell his story.

  He was one of those, he said, who wished to see Robert, Duke of Normandy; he was an innkeeper and men had come to his house, taken his food and his daughters, and in their cups had talked. They were on their way to the castle of Falaise and planned a surprise attack.

  Robert stood up.

  ‘The feasting is over,’ he said.

  The messenger was refreshed and further questioned. Robert shouted orders, commanding his followers to get to the defences.

  Then he looked at Arlette.

  ‘You must not stay here. Who knows what could happen to you? You must leave at once for your father’s cottage.’

  She said: ‘My place is with you.’

  He smiled at her tenderly. ‘’Twould be so,’ he replied, ‘but for the child. Our first thoughts must be for him. I would not have him harmed for anything in the Dukedom.’

  She saw the wisdom of this and allowed herself to be escorted back to her father’s house.

  From the castle came the sounds of battle. Duke Richard’s men surrounded it; his soldiers were encamped on the grassy slopes, and the sickening sound of their shrieks could be heard through the town as boiling oil was poured down on them from the turrets. It was the sound of the battering ram for which Arlette listened. How was Robert faring from within? Could he hold the castle against his brother?

  She longed for news of the battle though she was certain of the outcome. Robert must be victorious for it was not conceivable that he could be beaten. The people of Falaise were with him to a man; they had declared often enough that Normandy needed a strong man and Robert was the man.

  But now the child was impatient to be born and she could think of nothing else. The grandmother was there with a woman to help her and together they delivered him. Lusty his lungs proclaimed him to be and it was necessary to neglect him while they looked to his mother.

  ‘He can wait awhile,’ declared the grandmother, ‘but what think you our lord would say if aught befell Arlette?’

  So the boy was laid on the straw and left to himself and when Arlette heard the whisper: ‘A boy, a lusty boy!’ she remembered the dream of a great tree which grew from her body and cast its shelter over the whole of Normandy and beyond.

  When the women were assured that Arlette was no longer in danger they turned their attention to the child.

  In his fingers was the straw he had caught up from the floor. ‘Why look at this,’ cried the grandmother. ‘He has grasped the straw!’

  His mother smiled. ‘Already,’ she said, ‘he is grasping everything within his reach.’

  ‘I never saw such power in a new-born babe,’ murmured the grandmother.

  So in the tanner’s cottage, to the sounds of battle, the bastard was born. He was named William and his mother believed that he was born to a great destiny.

  The Duke of Normandy

  THE STONE WALLS of the castle rose above the town; from the turrets sentinels kept their watch; in the great hall the servants clustered about the fire and the smell of roasting venison filled the air. Above the hall in her boudoir the Lady Arlette sat with her women. Her daughter Adeliz sat at her feet playing with her embroidery silks, and as the women talked they listened for the sounds of arrival.

  Now and then Arlette rose to go to the window cut in the thick stone walls, shading her eyes to look for the company of horsemen with Robert riding at the head of them. He would be eager, she knew, to be with her, to caress her, to swear his undying devotion which he had proved for the last six years: and his first words would be when he had done this: ‘And where is the boy?’

  She smiled and looked down at the courtyard now where he played with his companions – the sons of barons and counts whom Robert had decreed should be his companions. ‘For, my love,’ said Robert, ‘he must be brought up among men. He must quickly learn to leave the shelter of his mother’s skirts.’

  He had learned that already. She watched him strut below – a leader if ever there was one. His short green tunic which reached to his knees became him well. His neck was bare, as were his arms and legs. Looking down on that group of boys none would have had any doubt as to who was Robert’s son. They played with sticks which in their minds were swords and already they were taking lessons in the art of chivalry which must be mastered by all well-born boys.

  William was shouting: ‘You will follow me. Come. Thor ayde. Thor ayde.’

  Where did he learn such things? wondered Arlette. From the old women of the household who would never forget that they came from the land across the sea and would always sigh for the pine forests and the fiords.

  William had dropped his stick suddenly; he had had enough of fighting; he wished to hunt and he had his new falcon to try out.

  Should she call him? Should she say: ‘William, your father may be here at any moment. You will hear them riding into the courtyard. Go and change your tunic. Comb your hair. Let your father be proud of you when he comes’? Or should she let him be seen as he was, his eyes alight with the triumph of his mock battle or with his sparrow hawk and his dogs and horses?

  Robert did not want a boy in a clean tunic with his dark hair neatly combed; he wanted a son who would be a fighter, a leader. She knew that he intended that boy to follow him, to rule all Normandy when he was in his grave. It had been a prophecy – that dream of hers. The boy down there in the courtyard, in spite of the fact that he was Robert’s illegitimate son, was destined to rule Normandy.

  William was unaware of his mother’s scrutiny. He must make the most of his play hour. Soon old Mauger would be sending his man for him. He would be reminded as he had been a hundred times: ‘There are lessons to be learned from books, my young lord, as well as from games.’

  William disliked Uncle Mauger; there was something sly about him which he sensed and, even though he was supposed to revere him because he was an Archbishop and a learned man, he never could do so. He much preferred Osbern the Seneschal who could be stern too but in a manner which inspired respect; but he liked even better the company of Gallet the Fool. Gallet amused him; he was full of strange tricks. It was said that his brain was addled, but William was not so sure. He had a way with dogs and knew how to train a falcon. Surely such a man could not be a complete fool? He adored William too – another reason for his good sense; there was nothing the Fool liked better than to do some task for the little master, as he called him.

  Then there was his cousin Guy, who was being brought up with him, trained in the arts of chivalry, learning to sit his horse like a Norman, and to excel in the arts of war; and who must, much to his chagrin, share those tiresome hours in the schoolroom with sly Uncle Mauger, who was Guy’s uncle too.

  Guy gave himself airs now and then because he was legitimate. William was
not sure what this meant; all he knew was that Guy was proud of being so. Uncle Mauger, he whispered to William, might teach them and punish them when they were idle, but he was a bastard for all that; and they should not forget it.

  William stood ecstatically sniffing the roasting venison. This was a special occasion. His father was coming. For this reason the foresters had brought in a fine stag of ten branches and everyone had marvelled at him. It was fitting that they should have brought in a stag like that for such an occasion.

  He was hungry. He wished his father would come. He went into the hall and stood watching the sizzling meat.

  ‘Stand clear, little master,’ said one of the servants, ‘or you’ll be splashed.’

  ‘Yes, little master, fine meat for a fine occasion.’

  ‘My father will soon be here,’ he said. ‘He comes from Rouen.’

  They did not answer him. They knew it well and he did not mean to tell them news but merely wished to talk to them.

  They forgot him and went on with what they had been talking of before he arrived. He stood listening. He listened a good deal. He liked to hear people’s talk, particularly when they seemed to be unaware of him. It was then that it became more interesting. Today they were not talking of his father’s visit, though they might well have been, but of someone who lived near by and who, William believed, was in truth the Devil.

  Often when they had been talking of Talvas of Bellême and he approached they would nudge each other and there would be a significant silence. For this very reason he had become greatly interested in the man. There was something quite shocking about him. He had heard old men warn boys of being on the road after dark. ‘Talvas could get you,’ they said; and there would be such a look of horror on their faces that William himself shuddered without quite knowing why.

  Now he was certain that the cooks had been talking of Talvas by the manner in which they had stopped when he approached.

  He went into a corner and sat down behind one of the benches and gave himself up to enjoying the delicious aroma of cooking venison and thinking of his father, whose father had been Richard the Second, Duke of Normandy, whose father had been Richard the Fearless, the first of that name, and whose father in his turn was Duke William Longsword the son of great Rollo. For one thing he must learn first was of his ancestors and of the land of fords, mountains and pine forests whence they came, and of the heroes of that land such as Ragnar and Sigurd who had become famous in history because of their courage.